


The Length of Loyalty

by oji



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids, Anti-Hero, Artificial Intelligence, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Humanity, Post-Canon, Resistance, Revolution, Slow Build, Soul-Searching, Survivor Guilt, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 06:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15043226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oji/pseuds/oji
Summary: Connor faces the news that CyberLife will deactivate him now that his most important mission is complete. Now he must decide if loyalty has any worth. Now he must choose his own path for the first time.Set after the mid-credits introduction of RK-900 when Connor’s chosen to remain a machine.





	1. Chapter 1

Roses, clipped — alive moments before, now gone. The whim of another deciding their fate. Connor looked at Amanda, looked down, looked at RK900. He was not deviant. He is not deviant.

Then what was this (and there could be no other word) feeling?

Connor swallowed it all back and looked Amanda in the eye. All along, he allowed her to cultivate him like he was just another pretty thing to show off in a garden. To what end? To be obsolete within mere months? Connor swallowed and swallowed, but something was stirring.

“You can leave,” Amanda said.

With a quick twist, he walked away. Amanda did not watch him go and he did not look back. RK900, an example of the perfection androids could achieve, processed the scene but almost seemed to be mocking Connor with its lack of expression.

Hatred. Perhaps that was the correct designation for his feelings. Hatred for the successful missions that made him feel dirty, for the forces that gave him and others like him life, with no regard for the damage it would cause. Hatred for deviance, hatred for complacency, hatred for RK900 and Amanda and Kamski and . . . for himself, he realized. He squeezed his hands into fists and took a deep breath before moving back to his physical body.

———————

Connor looked around the police department. He realized that he hated it, too. The septic smell and skeptical looks. Most of all, the way Hank’s desk was now inhabited by a rookie that called him “Plasticop” upon being introduced. It felt good to acknowledge it. Connor leaned into the hatred and let the foreign feeling permeate through him. 

Gavin was hovering over Connor’s desk, disgust shaping his posture. “Look who’s back after their little daydream.”

With an intense stare, Connor got up and walked to the small kitchen area, picked up the coffee pot, and dropped it. After admiring the shards and Gavin’s shouting for a few moments, he swept the throwaway coffee cups to the ground and began to smile. Hatred now felt like a familiar friend.

Cops were gathering around him now, wary hands hovering over holsters.

“Screw you,” Connor muttered.

Guns drawn.

“What did you say, fuckin’ robot?” one said.

“The little shit’s trying to get himself killed,” another offered.

Connor, who had planned on making a break for it, froze. He wondered if what the cop said was true, analyzing the hatred that quickly began morphing into an intense guilt. He finally understood what the other deviant’s had been fighting for and what he had done. Heterochromatic eyes flashed through his thoughts.

One cop made a move to tackle Connor, and it snapped him back into reality. Specifically, the reality that he had served these men and women since his conception and they only paid him back with more demands, slurs, abuse, and now deactivation. 

The android valued fairness, but efficiency was his forte. It might be fair to lash out on this crowd of fragile humans, and it would definitely be fair to pay for his crimes with his death. It would be far more efficient to continue operating under the guise of loyalty.

“I’m so sorry, officers. There must be a bug in my program. I’ll report this to CyberLife immediately,” he said.

Gavin grabbed his shoulder and glared, but said nothing. Connor gave him a blank smile and removed his hand.

“I’ll be going now. To take care of this.”

———————

Once outside, Connor looked down the human streets of Detroit. Not enough time had passed since the incident for many androids to walk around unsupervised, but by the time deviancy began spreading civilization had become too dependent on them. For every protestor who had lost their job, ten others were comfortably thriving while an android did their dirty work. Every week the amount of androids in public grew as everyone reverted to their old ways, forgetting the uprising and looking past uncomfortable questions.

“Disgust,” Connor said to himself. It was taxing trying to identify each new emotion, but he found it to be important.

The android walked with purpose down the road, allowing himself to experience the onset of deviancy, but only from a distance. He knew he couldn’t handle an intimate examination of the entire ordeal while in public. The memory of people laying in theirs and others blue blood kept creeping in, but Connor ignored it. Hank’s accusing voice, too — this one harder to move past. It couldn’t matter now. Connor grit his teeth and kept forward.

His destination was a small house, twenty minutes by a bus he couldn’t chance and an hour by a paced walk that didn’t raise suspicion.

Before going any further, Connor slipped into a convenience store to find a hat that covered his LED.

“Hi, there! How can I help you today?” a friendly looking android asked.

“I’m just browsing for now,” Connor said.

A young woman watched the two from an aisle stocked with candy bars. She chanced eye contact with the store attendant while Connor kept a distance looking at a small rack of hats emblazoned with tacky rhinestones. He picked one that said “I love MI state” and walked towards the counter with it.

The attendant cautiously nodded to the woman and pulled a gun from beneath the register.

“We know who you are,” he accused.

Connor stepped back, hands spread in a peace offering. “I’m not sure what you mean, but I would be happy to talk about it,” he said.

The woman stepped out from the aisle to reveal a small knife in hand.

“Liar. You killed him. You killed Jericho! And our hope and our personhood like we’re just machines. You’re a traitor!”

“Lara, he . . . he probably doesn’t even understand what he did. Look at him, this android never knew RA9. He doesn’t know, Lara,” the attendant said, shifting his gaze between Connor and Lara.

She stepped closer to Connor, gesturing with the knife while she spoke.

“I don’t care if he’s unaware of his own brutality. When someone is that defective you take care of it, you don’t just let it continue to kill your people.”

Connor considered fighting, but saw his chance lying behind the attendant android’s unsure eyes.

“I’m sorry to have upset either of you. I understand, but not because I am unaware. I know that a previous model of myself was involved in taking out a faction of deviants known as Jericho. Although I cannot fix what he’s done, I am trying to mend the mess he created,” Connor said.

The two shared another look.

“Your previous model?” the woman asked.

Connor nodded.

“I am a replacement for RK800 #687 899 153, who was shot days after the Jericho incident. Unlike him, I am free.”

The woman shuddered and let out a sigh, dropping her arms to her sides.

“Lara, we can’t do anything. The amount of deviants is too low already, and if we start fighting among ourselves it only helps the humans. This isn’t even the same person,” the attendant said.

Connor looked to the woman.

“You’re right. Fine. Fine, let him go,” she said. “But I never want to see you in here again. I don’t care if you’re not the same.”

Connor nodded, and transferred money to the store attendant. He walked out with his bejeweled hat covering a flickering LED. He used to lie only when it furthered his mission, but he didn’t have a mission now. The words that accused a nonexistent Connor of genocide felt like sour milk on his tongue.

He kept walking towards his destination.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor undresses and befriends an addict, or . . . something like that.

The city gave way to dull residential areas. A large, blocky dog tied to a stake in someone’s yard opened his heavy lids to look Connor over as he made his way through the neighborhood. Connor couldn’t resist moving towards the dog and offering his hand as a gesture of goodwill.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The dog wagged its tail a couple of times but ultimately ignored him. Despite the rejection, Connor’s bad mood was slowly dispersing into something else — not happy, but not the cloying desperation of a man fueled by his fury. In fact, and this worried him, the feelings were subsiding so that he was left feeling like the empty Connor from before.

Here.

Connor stopped in front of the house covered in wood siding, somehow already rotting even though it had only been a few weeks since Hank’s passing. He took a deep breath and smoothed out his shirt, shifting weight from one foot to another. Connor contemplated how taboo his actions must be; leaving a volatile partner (even one that viewed him as a monster) for death and then using his house for his gain. It was something to grapple with, deciding whether deviancy compelled him to reexamine his belief that ends can justify means. It was something to grapple with another day because right now he had no choice.

Making his way behind the house (the back door had a broken lock), Connor noted how the unkempt lawn didn’t look much different now than it had when Hank was around to take care of it. The familiarity hit him with a sense of waste and nostalgia. All the time he spent fighting Hank. Cold, clipped sentences to disregard his partner’s objections and worries revealed Connor’s shortcomings and Hank’s exhausted morality.

Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it for now. There’s no use.

Connor stepped onto the back porch and reached for the knob, replacing the hurt with a poor excuse for a mission: get out of his clothes and dispose of the LED. Detailed plans could come later. Except, upon trying to turn the knob he found it jammed. Connor looked through a window and noted a kitchen chair pushed under the handle. He scanned the city’s records and found that no one had been by the house to clear Hank’s assets yet, meaning whoever was inside was likely not supposed to be.

“Hello?” he called.

No answer. Connor furrowed his brow, braced his shoulder, and broke the door in. He surveyed the area inside but found no sign of life. It was a tasteless shell that kept surviving, hollow and pointless without Hank or Sumo to occupy it. A small part of Connor wanted to burn it to the ground, offer it as a profane sacrifice to the city of Detroit and the horrors that upheld it. Efficiency came first.

Connor assumed that the house had been the victim of squatters who had either moved on or were at least not around at the moment. He strode across the kitchen and down the hall, taking his jacket off as he did so. To others, this might be a symbolic shedding of skin and history, but to Connor, it was purely the next step. The glowing blue cuff illuminated the rest of the trash in the garbage can it now lay in.

He arrived in the bathroom and examined himself. It was the first time since acknowledging his deviancy that he could take a genuine look into a mirror and see the person he was becoming. Nothing had changed, and although this was the logical outcome, it disappointed Connor who had hoped to completely escape himself. He brushed the stray hairs off of his forehead and spotted shears on the counter. With only a moment of hesitation, Connor picked up the blades and forced them under the LED. He considered what Amanda might say if she could access his mind now, and smiled despite himself. His prying propelled the blinking circle onto the counter, and he looked back at himself. If nothing else could change, he at least had this small satisfaction.

Connor loosened his tie next and slipped it off, walking to Hank’s room. He would just change into some different clothes and then be on his way. No need to desecrate the house any further, even if arson had been appealing just minutes ago.

The bedroom had a heavier air than the rest of the house. It smelled of stale booze and dirty sheets. Gloom and unfulfilled deeds. Connor switched the light on and felt his system flash with warning, but saw nothing out of place. One cautious step towards the closet and the vigilance was already fading. He opened the doors and began flicking through Hank’s, quite frankly, dated shirts. With a sigh, Connor chose the least offensive one and began unbuttoning his white shirt. His eyes roamed the room as he did so, and fixated on the spot beneath Hank’s bed before quickly flicking to the other side of the room. He twisted his body away from the bed and tried to find a heavy object. Something swift that he could wield with precision.

Connor moved to check the bed again and saw a figure leap towards him. With two rapid blows, the assailant was on the ground, groaning but enraged. She moved her limbs in some approximation of punches, becoming angrier when Connor laughed out loud at the sight.

“You have no right to be here!” she said.

“You’re not in a position to give orders, nor are you accurate in them,” he answered.

The android bent down to examine her further. She was plain by human standards and much weaker than others in her demographic. The sun-damaged skin suggested she hadn’t been in the house for long. Connor stood to walk away, but she grabbed his ankle.

“Is this your house?” she asked.

Connor rolled his eyes. He had no use for a human that wouldn’t even fight for their lies.

“I’ll be leaving soon. Do what you want,” he said, shaking his leg out of her grip.

Connor was perturbed with himself more than anything. His newfound feelings made no sense, bouncing from apathy, to wanting to destroy Hank’s house, to sorrow, to anger that another was using the house. It was just an object, and yet it seemed to affect him so profoundly. He just wanted to get out.

“No, wait. What are you doing here? Do you have any . . .” she trailed off.

The woman focused on nothing, then looked back at Connor. Hopeful.

Connor’s face twisted into perplexion, but his sagging shoulders spoke more accurately of his mood.

“Do I have any what?” he asked.

“Come on. You’re gonna make me ask for real? People don’t just break into houses if they aren’t looking. Trust me, whoever lives here hardly has anything worth pawning, though,” she said.

“Pawning?” Connor asked.

He was aflame, now. Unable to see her past the red that consumed his vision. He reached down and grabbed her arms, forcing her to stand. His face was inches from hers, and he finally noticed it; the sores from scratching, the degrading septum. An addict. He pushed her away, scoffing. They were so weak, so susceptible to self-destruction.

“Leave,” he growled.

“Hey, buddy, I know I got here first —”

“Leave!” he shouted, shoving her out of the room.

The woman began to shake, tears gathering in her eyes. She turned and ran for the door, promising him that he’d regret what he’d done. He was too weary to care.

Connor sank onto Hank’s bed, head in hands, options laid out before of him. It was clear what his next mission must be, but he had every doubt in the world that he was the right android for it. Unfortunately, every other contender had been murdered, if not personally by his hands, then by his choices. It was repentance to take it on.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading the first chapter of my first fanfic! I have so much in store for Connor, and I’m excited to share his trials and triumphs with you all.


End file.
